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Populærmusikk fra Vittula
Romanen om Matti og hans tause kamerat Niila. De vokser opp på seksti- og syttitallet i strøket Vittula, som betyr Fittemyra, i byen Pajala i den svensk-finske Tornedalen. Her støter rockemusikken mot den religiøse læstadianismen. Herfra strømmer fantastiske fortellinger, overraskende og lattervekkende historier.
Populærmusikk fra Vittula er Mikael Niemis debutroman. Den vant Augustprisen som årets beste roman i Sverige 2000 og ble instilt til Nordisk Råds Litteraturpris. Den er blitt en rekordstor bestselger.
Populærmusikk fra Vittula er Mikael Niemis debutroman. Den vant Augustprisen som årets beste roman i Sverige 2000 og ble instilt til Nordisk Råds Litteraturpris. Den er blitt en rekordstor bestselger.
224 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2000
222 people are currently reading
4017 people want to read
About the author
Mikael Niemi
21 books233 followersMikael Niemi is a Swedish author. He wrote the novel Populärmusik från Vittula (in English as Popular music from Vittula). It became a best-seller in Sweden and was subsequently translated into 30 languages.
He first became famous by writing poetry, and he has published many collections of poetry, such as Änglar med mausergevär (Angels with mauserguns), Med rötter här uppe (With roots up here) and his very first, Näsblod under högmässan (Nosebleed during the high mass). He has also written many works for the theatre.
Many of his books contain some Meänkieli language, the local variety of Finnish.
Niemi was educated in Luleå but currently resides in Pajala.
He first became famous by writing poetry, and he has published many collections of poetry, such as Änglar med mausergevär (Angels with mauserguns), Med rötter här uppe (With roots up here) and his very first, Näsblod under högmässan (Nosebleed during the high mass). He has also written many works for the theatre.
Many of his books contain some Meänkieli language, the local variety of Finnish.
Niemi was educated in Luleå but currently resides in Pajala.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 627 reviews
March 6, 2013
Matti is a regular teen in 60s Pajala up in the extreme north of Sweden, where they think of themselves as Finns and speak Finnish by preference. These are guys who know how to hold their liquor, laugh at temperatures that go down to forty below zero, handle a gun, an axe or a snowmobile, build a house, butcher a reindeer and treat women the way they really want to be treated. Though it's true, Matti has also discovered rock 'n' roll. Maybe that makes him knapsu (gay), but he doesn't care. A real Finn can take care of himself if anyone's dumb enough to call him knapsu.
He also turns out to be a natural writer: his voice is sort of like Huck Finn crossed with a Viking saga. Out of consideration to the guys further south, he's been kind enough to write his book in Swedish, which at least is a half-respectable language. I understand that there's an English translation too, though I'm not sure I can recommend it. Here's what Matti thinks of English:
________________________
Consulting the Swedish wikipedia page about this book, I'm pleased to see that it's been translated into both the dialect of Finnish spoken here and standard Finnish, "together with some other languages". It also correctly describes the book as a skröna (roughly, bragging or lying as an art-form) masquerading as an autobiography. I'm afraid to say that some other reviewers have called it "magical realist". They are so knapsu that they probably enjoy the taste of wine.
He also turns out to be a natural writer: his voice is sort of like Huck Finn crossed with a Viking saga. Out of consideration to the guys further south, he's been kind enough to write his book in Swedish, which at least is a half-respectable language. I understand that there's an English translation too, though I'm not sure I can recommend it. Here's what Matti thinks of English:
Engelska, detta språk med alldeles för svagt tuggmotstånd för hårda finska käftar, så sladdrigt att bara flickor kunde få femmor i det, denna snigelaktiga rotvälska, dallrande och fuktig, uppfunnen av gyttjetrampande kustlänningar som aldrig behövt kämpa, som aldrig svultit eller frusit, ett språk för lättingar, gräsätare, soffpruttare, så helt utan spänst att tungan sladdrade som en avskuren förhud i munnen.Unfortunately, we can't all be Finns. Girls, the quickest way to Pajala is fly to Kiruna via Stockholm, then take the bus north. But don't get your hopes up.
[English, a language which doesn't offer enough resistance to hard Finnish jaws, so slippery that only girls can get As in it, this damp, wobbly, snail-like gobbledegook, invented by muddy southerners who've never needed to fight, never been frozen or hungry, a language for lazy vegetarians who fart on their sofas, so completely lacking in texture that you feel your tongue sliding around in your mouth like a cut-off foreskin.]
________________________
Consulting the Swedish wikipedia page about this book, I'm pleased to see that it's been translated into both the dialect of Finnish spoken here and standard Finnish, "together with some other languages". It also correctly describes the book as a skröna (roughly, bragging or lying as an art-form) masquerading as an autobiography. I'm afraid to say that some other reviewers have called it "magical realist". They are so knapsu that they probably enjoy the taste of wine.
April 18, 2013
Dovoljno je pročitati ovaj sjajan prikaz knjige koji je Teofil Pančić napisao te davne 2005.
http://www.vreme.rs/cms/view.php?id=4...
Ovo je jedna od "onih" knjiga koje mi najviše znače kao uredniku... :)
http://www.vreme.rs/cms/view.php?id=4...
Ovo je jedna od "onih" knjiga koje mi najviše znače kao uredniku... :)
March 12, 2019
[2.5*]
I started this novel because it was recommended on a Russian book podcast that I really enjoy, promising a funny coming of age story set in the middle of nowhere in Sweden, translated beautifully into Russian. I will lie if I say any of this is untrue. It is indeed a coming of age story set in the middle of nowhere in Sweden. It is indeed funny. It is indeed translated astonishingly well into Russian - using simultaneously poetic and crude language (there were quite some words that I don't think I've ever seen written, even somewhere on neglected buildings, and I've seen quite a lot of various words written in such places.) I assume this was how the original text was constructed as well, but I applaud the translator in any case - it doesn't at all read as translated fiction, only the foreign-sounding names are giving away its national origin.
The novel is presented as a collection of vignettes exploring coming of age of a boy and his friends in a place that is both part of the modern world and set apart from it, where drinking is the hobby of most of its male (and often female) inhabitants, where gender roles are stuck in middle ages but where women are nonetheless strong and powerful in their own way, the way they have always been in villages, at least in this part of the world. There is a feeling that the action could have easily been transported to the middle of nowhere in Russia, barely losing a reference. Then there is this sense of the clash of cultures, not just modernity and tradition but also actual cultures - the setting is a Finnish enclave in Sweden, which probably has more in common with the Soviet Union than the rest of Sweden. Life is rough and hopeless but, like everywhere, it goes on regardless.
I had a hard time reading this novel, despite its many merits, or maybe precisely because of them. Even though I myself have been mostly living in a bubble of educated, intelligent, liberally-minded and internationally-conscious populace, I am well-aware that it is indeed a bubble and not how people generally are. I sometimes catch glimpses of the life outside the bubble and it is very similar to the life in Vittula and its surroundings. Such glimpses rattle me slightly, forcing me to withdraw back into my bubble, where life is not perfect either, just more familiar to my sensibilities. In reality, though, it is equally possible to be unhappy both inside and outside the bubble. It's just that inside the bubble we have a better vocabulary and more practice to talk about our unhappiness.
It is rather curious that a book that is pretty funny has put me in such a gloomy mood. It is also curious that intellectually I acknowledge that this is really good literature but I still did not enjoy the process of reading it. Lots of food for thought though, as long as the thinking is done inside the bubble.
I started this novel because it was recommended on a Russian book podcast that I really enjoy, promising a funny coming of age story set in the middle of nowhere in Sweden, translated beautifully into Russian. I will lie if I say any of this is untrue. It is indeed a coming of age story set in the middle of nowhere in Sweden. It is indeed funny. It is indeed translated astonishingly well into Russian - using simultaneously poetic and crude language (there were quite some words that I don't think I've ever seen written, even somewhere on neglected buildings, and I've seen quite a lot of various words written in such places.) I assume this was how the original text was constructed as well, but I applaud the translator in any case - it doesn't at all read as translated fiction, only the foreign-sounding names are giving away its national origin.
The novel is presented as a collection of vignettes exploring coming of age of a boy and his friends in a place that is both part of the modern world and set apart from it, where drinking is the hobby of most of its male (and often female) inhabitants, where gender roles are stuck in middle ages but where women are nonetheless strong and powerful in their own way, the way they have always been in villages, at least in this part of the world. There is a feeling that the action could have easily been transported to the middle of nowhere in Russia, barely losing a reference. Then there is this sense of the clash of cultures, not just modernity and tradition but also actual cultures - the setting is a Finnish enclave in Sweden, which probably has more in common with the Soviet Union than the rest of Sweden. Life is rough and hopeless but, like everywhere, it goes on regardless.
I had a hard time reading this novel, despite its many merits, or maybe precisely because of them. Even though I myself have been mostly living in a bubble of educated, intelligent, liberally-minded and internationally-conscious populace, I am well-aware that it is indeed a bubble and not how people generally are. I sometimes catch glimpses of the life outside the bubble and it is very similar to the life in Vittula and its surroundings. Such glimpses rattle me slightly, forcing me to withdraw back into my bubble, where life is not perfect either, just more familiar to my sensibilities. In reality, though, it is equally possible to be unhappy both inside and outside the bubble. It's just that inside the bubble we have a better vocabulary and more practice to talk about our unhappiness.
It is rather curious that a book that is pretty funny has put me in such a gloomy mood. It is also curious that intellectually I acknowledge that this is really good literature but I still did not enjoy the process of reading it. Lots of food for thought though, as long as the thinking is done inside the bubble.
July 25, 2022
Northern Sweden in all its comedy and tragedy!
August 16, 2015
Popularna muzika iz Vitule, predstavlja prvi roman Švedskog pisca Mikaela Niemia poznatog do tada po svojim zbirkama poezije kao i pozorišnim komadima.
Prvi roman, sjajan roman! Prljav, dirljiv, nostalgičan, duhovit.
Radnja prati odrastanje dva dečaka, Mattija i Nile, na samom izolovanom severu Švedske, bogu iza nogu, u maloj zabiti Pajali, u kraljevstvu leda gde vikinzi još uvek predstavljaju prototip idealnog muškarca, gde se sve važne odluke donose u sauni i gde bi se svaka poštena srpska pijandura postidela svojih alko-kapaciteta.
A kao kontrast hladnoj zatucanosti Pajale, 60e su, vreme kada ceo svet slavi tehnički napredak , seksualnu revoluciju i rock’n’roll.
U svom tom metežu, Matti i Nila imaju jedan drugog , muziku i jednu ploču Beatlesa koja je za njih ceo svet.
Knjiga predstavlja predivan spoj maštovitog, bizarnog, vulgarnog i naivnog uvijen u magični realizam i fikciju. Vrlo živopisni likovi, tečan i šarmantan stil, suptilni humor.
Posebna pohvala ide Niemiu za nešto što piscima često ne polazi za rukom a to je prilagođavanje stila pisanja uzrastu malog Mattija kao naratora. Kako se menja Matti, menja i se i percepcija i stil pisanja a pritom se ne gubi suština i lični pečat karaktera.
Negde pročitah ovu preporuku
’ Preporučujem – svim ljudima koje volim’.
Ne bih mogla to bolje da sročim.
Prvi roman, sjajan roman! Prljav, dirljiv, nostalgičan, duhovit.
Radnja prati odrastanje dva dečaka, Mattija i Nile, na samom izolovanom severu Švedske, bogu iza nogu, u maloj zabiti Pajali, u kraljevstvu leda gde vikinzi još uvek predstavljaju prototip idealnog muškarca, gde se sve važne odluke donose u sauni i gde bi se svaka poštena srpska pijandura postidela svojih alko-kapaciteta.
A kao kontrast hladnoj zatucanosti Pajale, 60e su, vreme kada ceo svet slavi tehnički napredak , seksualnu revoluciju i rock’n’roll.
U svom tom metežu, Matti i Nila imaju jedan drugog , muziku i jednu ploču Beatlesa koja je za njih ceo svet.
Knjiga predstavlja predivan spoj maštovitog, bizarnog, vulgarnog i naivnog uvijen u magični realizam i fikciju. Vrlo živopisni likovi, tečan i šarmantan stil, suptilni humor.
Posebna pohvala ide Niemiu za nešto što piscima često ne polazi za rukom a to je prilagođavanje stila pisanja uzrastu malog Mattija kao naratora. Kako se menja Matti, menja i se i percepcija i stil pisanja a pritom se ne gubi suština i lični pečat karaktera.
Negde pročitah ovu preporuku
’ Preporučujem – svim ljudima koje volim’.
Ne bih mogla to bolje da sročim.
September 5, 2021
Это книга именно про то, о чем все пишут — про дружбу, про взросление и силу музыки, что нас связала. Только все эти вещи — лишь верхушка айсберга. Это книга про то, что несмотря на разницу культур и достатка, шрамы на коленках у всех одинаковые. Как и свадьбы да похороны.
⠀
Ниеми пишет в очаровательной натуралистической манере, которая иногда «ой, фу», а иногда взрыв хохота. Смотришь ты такой себе на звёзды, обдуваемый октябрьскими ветрами, и гогочешь прямо в космос, вдруг кто услышит.
⠀
Возможно, крысьи кишки и мальчишечий поцелуй оттолкнёт впечатлительных натур, но за этим всем скрывается бездна радости — наконец-то кто-то ещё умеет писать так лихо, так точно, будто не осталось ничего святого. Так приходит невыносимый уют, когда тёплое одеялко способно раздавить тебя под прессом комфортного и эгоистичного счастья. Больше всего в душу запали истории как живется мужикам-строителям, когда все земли уже застроены и некуда даже хозпостройку втулить, как дерутся и как пьют шведы, как ловить крыс и больно отомстить писателю за неуплату, каково это быть взрослым и получить от отца важнейшие знания — кого из соседей недолюбливать, а кого вовсе ненавидеть. Будто бы жизнь взрослых это очень тихая и холодная, но все же война.
⠀
И все в книге хорошо кроме объема — слишком мало показали. Герои Ниеми — обычные пацаны, без талантов и как музыканты, скажем честно, вряд ли попали бы в хит-парад. Но потому так интересно следить за жизнью ничем не примечательных людей, ведь можно примерить на себя и на соседа. Главное, чтобы это было хорошо описано. А Ниеми, кажется, мог бы даже инструкцию по сбору мебели из ИКЕИ написать так, что мы животы надорвали от смеха и нервов (это же все таки ИКЕЯ).
⠀
Ниеми пишет в очаровательной натуралистической манере, которая иногда «ой, фу», а иногда взрыв хохота. Смотришь ты такой себе на звёзды, обдуваемый октябрьскими ветрами, и гогочешь прямо в космос, вдруг кто услышит.
⠀
Возможно, крысьи кишки и мальчишечий поцелуй оттолкнёт впечатлительных натур, но за этим всем скрывается бездна радости — наконец-то кто-то ещё умеет писать так лихо, так точно, будто не осталось ничего святого. Так приходит невыносимый уют, когда тёплое одеялко способно раздавить тебя под прессом комфортного и эгоистичного счастья. Больше всего в душу запали истории как живется мужикам-строителям, когда все земли уже застроены и некуда даже хозпостройку втулить, как дерутся и как пьют шведы, как ловить крыс и больно отомстить писателю за неуплату, каково это быть взрослым и получить от отца важнейшие знания — кого из соседей недолюбливать, а кого вовсе ненавидеть. Будто бы жизнь взрослых это очень тихая и холодная, но все же война.
⠀
И все в книге хорошо кроме объема — слишком мало показали. Герои Ниеми — обычные пацаны, без талантов и как музыканты, скажем честно, вряд ли попали бы в хит-парад. Но потому так интересно следить за жизнью ничем не примечательных людей, ведь можно примерить на себя и на соседа. Главное, чтобы это было хорошо описано. А Ниеми, кажется, мог бы даже инструкцию по сбору мебели из ИКЕИ написать так, что мы животы надорвали от смеха и нервов (это же все таки ИКЕЯ).
February 16, 2021
Ну раз пять я прям гоготнула и хрюкнула.
А в целом все мимо - и тематика, и стилистика, и эстетика. Первую часть книги вспоминала я брошенного на половине писателя Зайончковского с его «Покажется обнажённая сталь — как головка между ног роженицы, как залупа в бережной мужской руке». И думала о том, что с какой бы целью не использовали писатели весь этот урогенитальный ассоциативный ряд - с хулиганской или стилистической - я сразу выпадаю из текста, как из ненужного и неприятного разговора. То есть я понимаю, что когда простые парни испытывают сильные эмоции и шарят в поисках выразительных средств, они непременно нашаривают член. Но чтобы это оценить, читатель, наверное, должен расти в совершенно другой среде, а наш с Ниеми зазор не так велик, как бы мне хотелось. Вот вам, чтобы не мне одной страдать: Музыка вошла в нее, набухла, как член, изливаясь красным семенем.
А понравилась мне буйная фольклорная часть, хотя и она часто какая-то недокрученная и непонятно с какой целью прилепленная. Не то что противно пробираться через отрубленные крысячьи хвосты, а вот прям скучно. И вообще большую часть книги скучно, хотя к концу она, как справедливо замечают многие, действительно, разгоняется. И переводчик тоже разгоняется, и финальная попойка получилась прям феерическая (в языковом отношении тоже), вот тут-то я и гоготнула три раза из пяти.
А еще разок вот здесь: Вдох. Талый снег. В воздухе почему-то опять кувыркнулась ворона.
И закончу хорошим: Вся природа утопала в белесом свете тундры, солнце не грело совершенно, будто было записано на киноп��енку. Красиво, мне кажется.
А в целом все мимо - и тематика, и стилистика, и эстетика. Первую часть книги вспоминала я брошенного на половине писателя Зайончковского с его «Покажется обнажённая сталь — как головка между ног роженицы, как залупа в бережной мужской руке». И думала о том, что с какой бы целью не использовали писатели весь этот урогенитальный ассоциативный ряд - с хулиганской или стилистической - я сразу выпадаю из текста, как из ненужного и неприятного разговора. То есть я понимаю, что когда простые парни испытывают сильные эмоции и шарят в поисках выразительных средств, они непременно нашаривают член. Но чтобы это оценить, читатель, наверное, должен расти в совершенно другой среде, а наш с Ниеми зазор не так велик, как бы мне хотелось. Вот вам, чтобы не мне одной страдать: Музыка вошла в нее, набухла, как член, изливаясь красным семенем.
А понравилась мне буйная фольклорная часть, хотя и она часто какая-то недокрученная и непонятно с какой целью прилепленная. Не то что противно пробираться через отрубленные крысячьи хвосты, а вот прям скучно. И вообще большую часть книги скучно, хотя к концу она, как справедливо замечают многие, действительно, разгоняется. И переводчик тоже разгоняется, и финальная попойка получилась прям феерическая (в языковом отношении тоже), вот тут-то я и гоготнула три раза из пяти.
А еще разок вот здесь: Вдох. Талый снег. В воздухе почему-то опять кувыркнулась ворона.
И закончу хорошим: Вся природа утопала в белесом свете тундры, солнце не грело совершенно, будто было записано на киноп��енку. Красиво, мне кажется.
December 2, 2007
This one has it all. Humanity, humour up the wazoo, insight, high emotional stakes, great use of language (it must be amazing in the Swedish but oh well),magic, and morals. Anyone who grew up in an isolated place will relate to this.
Spoiler alert, if you already know you're going to read this book, stop now:
seriously, why ruin it...
ok here goes
the scene where Niila's abusive father gets his ass kicked, then, while convalescing, finds heaven while walking the landscape in the cracks of the ceiling was one of the most...believable portrayals of a religious experience that I have read in a long time. Ever. So beautiful. And the rest of the chapter is amazing as well. It's almost biblical in it's archetypal weight. To me this chapter is the beating heart of the book. Not funny like the rest, but the lynchpin, the keystone of a magnificent, humble novel.
Spoiler alert, if you already know you're going to read this book, stop now:
seriously, why ruin it...
ok here goes
the scene where Niila's abusive father gets his ass kicked, then, while convalescing, finds heaven while walking the landscape in the cracks of the ceiling was one of the most...believable portrayals of a religious experience that I have read in a long time. Ever. So beautiful. And the rest of the chapter is amazing as well. It's almost biblical in it's archetypal weight. To me this chapter is the beating heart of the book. Not funny like the rest, but the lynchpin, the keystone of a magnificent, humble novel.
April 27, 2022
Šťavnatá generačná výpoveď spoza polárneho kruhu. Svet, ktorý sa zvonku môže javiť ako fádny, očami mladého hlavného hrdinu však ide o jedno nekonečné dobrodružstvo, kde sa dospieva popri hre na hru na gitare, saunovaní, čúraní do snehu a v ustavičnom kontakte so svojráznymi postavičkami tohto svojrázneho severského sveta.
January 1, 2014
I distinctly remember starting this book. I was on a plane home from Japan, finally from our sudden month in the UK. They had just turned the lights out after meals and drinks so that people could sleep. It was about 12am at night Japanese time, so 1am Aussie time. I was already feeling self conscious as my light was on, but Lexx and my brother were on either side of me. Lexx had taken a sleeping tablet and my brother still hadn't got the hang of sleeping on planes. And I was desperately trying not to piss myself laughing at this book.
This book isn't really a book of short stories, but it kind of is. It's probably better described as a collection of vignettes of the author's childhood. How many of them are true? God knows. He probably doesn't know entirely himself. This is what is the most gripping part of this book. It tells stories of his childhood growing up on the far northern border of Sweden and Finland above the Arctic Circle, where they speak their own language which isn't quiet Swedish, but not quite Finnish, and considered a bastard kind of area by both Finland and Sweden. With all this in the background, he tells you these stories as absolute truths that just sort of get carried away on a child's imagination until they are fantastical in nature and far too big to be true. But you can imagine little Mikael swearing black and blue that's exactly what happened.
This element diminishes slightly as he gets older, and the fantastic, almost magical realism of the book settles back into a more measured reality. But was it is replaced by is a humour and a heartbreaking assessment of the reality of the town that only teenagers can really give.
That's the thing that sucks you in really. It's the brutal honesty of this book. Whether it's him telling you a story at 5 or 15 or 25. You believe his complete sincerity. In a world that undervalues honestly so much, this is a very rare gift.
For more reviews visit http://rusalkii.blogspot.com.au/
This book isn't really a book of short stories, but it kind of is. It's probably better described as a collection of vignettes of the author's childhood. How many of them are true? God knows. He probably doesn't know entirely himself. This is what is the most gripping part of this book. It tells stories of his childhood growing up on the far northern border of Sweden and Finland above the Arctic Circle, where they speak their own language which isn't quiet Swedish, but not quite Finnish, and considered a bastard kind of area by both Finland and Sweden. With all this in the background, he tells you these stories as absolute truths that just sort of get carried away on a child's imagination until they are fantastical in nature and far too big to be true. But you can imagine little Mikael swearing black and blue that's exactly what happened.
This element diminishes slightly as he gets older, and the fantastic, almost magical realism of the book settles back into a more measured reality. But was it is replaced by is a humour and a heartbreaking assessment of the reality of the town that only teenagers can really give.
That's the thing that sucks you in really. It's the brutal honesty of this book. Whether it's him telling you a story at 5 or 15 or 25. You believe his complete sincerity. In a world that undervalues honestly so much, this is a very rare gift.
For more reviews visit http://rusalkii.blogspot.com.au/
September 6, 2014
Суровые будни суровых финско-шведских парней — со зверскими побоями, пьянками до потери сознания, крысиными кишками и мечтами, которые и без эсперанто понятны каждому подростку в мире. Ужасно физиологично, но не бросайте: в конце неожиданно лирично и здорово.
November 23, 2019
Just pure brilliance
September 11, 2021
This is the type of book I've seen around for so long that I thought I've already read it. I hadn't of course and this was a great treat to read. An quick and engaging book that i could've read it one sitting if it weren't for me to always have multiple books on the go.
Read
April 4, 2013On the link of literature to madness -
Excerpt from a lecture delivered in the sauna by Dad; he explicates the facts of life for 14 year old Mattie so his son will know how to be a man:
"Then [Dad] started going through a list of all the family idiots. I'd already met some of them: one was in the psychiatric hospital in Gallivare, and another in Pitea. In medical jargon it was called schizophrenia, and it seemed to run in the family. It would appear when you reached the age of eighteen or so, and was due to certain causes. Frustrated love was one, and Dad begged me to be very wary of getting involved with complicated women who were scared of sex. Dad urged me never to be too persistent with the fair sex if they declined to open their legs, but rather to follow his own example and find myself an unabashed peasant girl with a big ass.
"The other cause of lunacy was brooding. Dad strongly advised me never to start thinking too much, but to do as little as possible of it, since thinking was a menace that only got worse the more of it you did. He could recommend hard manual labor as an antidote: shoveling snow, chopping firewood, skiing cross-country, and that kind of thing, because thinking usually affected people when they were lolling about on the sofa or sitting back to rest in some other way. Getting up early was also recommended, especially on weekends and when you had a hangover, because all kinds of nasty thought could worm their way into your mind then.
"It was particularly important not to brood about religion. God and death and the meaning of life were all extremely dangerous topics for a young and vulnerable mind, a dense forest in which you could easily get lost and end up with acute attacks of madness. You could confidently leave that kind of stuff until your old age, because by then you would be hardened and tougher, and wouldn't have much else to do. Confirmation classes should be regarded as a purely theoretical exercise: a few texts and rituals to memorize, but certainly not anything to start worrying about.
"The most dangerous thing of all, and something he wanted to warn me about above all else, the one thing that had consigned whole regiments of unfortunate young people to the twilight world of insanity, was reading books. This objectionable practice had increased among the younger generation, and Dad was more pleased than he could say to note that I had not yet displayed any such tendencies. Lunatic asylums were overflowing with folk who'd been reading too much. Once upon a time they'd been just like you and me, physically strong, straightforward, cheerful, and well balanced. Then they'd started reading. Most often by chance. A bout of flu perhaps, with a few days in bed. An attractive book cover that had aroused some curiosity. And suddenly the bad habit had taken hold. The first book had led to another. Then another, and another, all links in a chain that led straight down into the eternal night of mental illness. It was impossible to stop. It was worse than drugs.
"It might just be possible, if you were very careful, to look at the occasional book that could teach you something, such as encyclopedias or repair manuals. The most dangerous kind of book was fiction - that's where all the brooding was sparked and encouraged. Damnit all! Addictive and risky products like that should only be available in state-regulated monopoly stores, rationed and sold only to those with a license, and mature in age."
Kindle location 2712-2741
In the oral tradition of hyperbolic tall-tales -
Chapter 10 tells the most frightening ghost story of all time.
Chapter 12 tells the darkest, most evil story of all time.
Chapter 13 tells the funniest mentor story of all time.
Each chapter is the self-contained narrative of an event during the journey from innocence to experience.
Excerpt from a lecture delivered in the sauna by Dad; he explicates the facts of life for 14 year old Mattie so his son will know how to be a man:
"Then [Dad] started going through a list of all the family idiots. I'd already met some of them: one was in the psychiatric hospital in Gallivare, and another in Pitea. In medical jargon it was called schizophrenia, and it seemed to run in the family. It would appear when you reached the age of eighteen or so, and was due to certain causes. Frustrated love was one, and Dad begged me to be very wary of getting involved with complicated women who were scared of sex. Dad urged me never to be too persistent with the fair sex if they declined to open their legs, but rather to follow his own example and find myself an unabashed peasant girl with a big ass.
"The other cause of lunacy was brooding. Dad strongly advised me never to start thinking too much, but to do as little as possible of it, since thinking was a menace that only got worse the more of it you did. He could recommend hard manual labor as an antidote: shoveling snow, chopping firewood, skiing cross-country, and that kind of thing, because thinking usually affected people when they were lolling about on the sofa or sitting back to rest in some other way. Getting up early was also recommended, especially on weekends and when you had a hangover, because all kinds of nasty thought could worm their way into your mind then.
"It was particularly important not to brood about religion. God and death and the meaning of life were all extremely dangerous topics for a young and vulnerable mind, a dense forest in which you could easily get lost and end up with acute attacks of madness. You could confidently leave that kind of stuff until your old age, because by then you would be hardened and tougher, and wouldn't have much else to do. Confirmation classes should be regarded as a purely theoretical exercise: a few texts and rituals to memorize, but certainly not anything to start worrying about.
"The most dangerous thing of all, and something he wanted to warn me about above all else, the one thing that had consigned whole regiments of unfortunate young people to the twilight world of insanity, was reading books. This objectionable practice had increased among the younger generation, and Dad was more pleased than he could say to note that I had not yet displayed any such tendencies. Lunatic asylums were overflowing with folk who'd been reading too much. Once upon a time they'd been just like you and me, physically strong, straightforward, cheerful, and well balanced. Then they'd started reading. Most often by chance. A bout of flu perhaps, with a few days in bed. An attractive book cover that had aroused some curiosity. And suddenly the bad habit had taken hold. The first book had led to another. Then another, and another, all links in a chain that led straight down into the eternal night of mental illness. It was impossible to stop. It was worse than drugs.
"It might just be possible, if you were very careful, to look at the occasional book that could teach you something, such as encyclopedias or repair manuals. The most dangerous kind of book was fiction - that's where all the brooding was sparked and encouraged. Damnit all! Addictive and risky products like that should only be available in state-regulated monopoly stores, rationed and sold only to those with a license, and mature in age."
Kindle location 2712-2741
In the oral tradition of hyperbolic tall-tales -
Chapter 10 tells the most frightening ghost story of all time.
Chapter 12 tells the darkest, most evil story of all time.
Chapter 13 tells the funniest mentor story of all time.
Each chapter is the self-contained narrative of an event during the journey from innocence to experience.
December 4, 2020
4.5*
Knyga apie vaikystę ir paauglystę Švedijos šiaurinėje provincijoje šešiasdešimtaisiais. Vietomis juokinga, vietomis liūdna ir net žiauroka. Labai patiko, užkliuvo tik pora famtasmagorinių vietų, kurios man pasirodė ne į temą
Knyga apie vaikystę ir paauglystę Švedijos šiaurinėje provincijoje šešiasdešimtaisiais. Vietomis juokinga, vietomis liūdna ir net žiauroka. Labai patiko, užkliuvo tik pora famtasmagorinių vietų, kurios man pasirodė ne į temą
January 11, 2008
Best Finnish book ever.
Well, OK, I haven't read any others.
But this is what I imagine my childhood may have been like if my father had never left Finland.
Some of the most endearing scenes and stories I have ever read. Too god damned cute to put down. Nothing life-changing in here, but it shouldn't be missed.
Well, OK, I haven't read any others.
But this is what I imagine my childhood may have been like if my father had never left Finland.
Some of the most endearing scenes and stories I have ever read. Too god damned cute to put down. Nothing life-changing in here, but it shouldn't be missed.
February 11, 2021
Tämä yllätti samaistuttavuudellaan ja huumorillaan. Suomalaisille paljon hauskaa tunnistettavaa. Nauroin usein ääneen, etenkin hääkappaleelle.
Episodimaista kerrontaa, ei sinänsä mitään tarinaa, mistä johtuen loppukappaleet vähän latteita. Maaginen realismi toimi tosi hyvin. Useita kielellisesti kauniita kohtia.
Poikien suudelma oli hellyttävä motiivi.
Episodimaista kerrontaa, ei sinänsä mitään tarinaa, mistä johtuen loppukappaleet vähän latteita. Maaginen realismi toimi tosi hyvin. Useita kielellisesti kauniita kohtia.
Poikien suudelma oli hellyttävä motiivi.
October 12, 2022
Nostalginen, vaikken ole 60- ja 70-lukua kokenutkaan. Koin läheisyyttä ja onnea suomalaisuuteen semmosella todella julmalla tavalla. Kaikki ne kokemukset ja kultuuri, jotka aiheuttavat suomalaisille enemmän murhetta kuin iloa.
February 27, 2025
Fantastisk bok bestående av en serie vignetter i en pojkes uppväxt i Pajala. Främst är boken otroligt rolig, men glimtar och avsnitt av något större skiner då och då igenom.
Favoritpassage:
"Men till helgerna renade han sig genom bön och bastu och drog på sig vitskjortan och den mörka kostymen. Under mötena fick han äntligen angripa smutsen och Djävulen, svinga Herrens tveeggade svärd, lag och evangelium, mot världens alla syndare, mot lögnarna, horbockarna, nådetjuvarna, svärjarna, drinkarna, hustruplågarna pch kommunisterna som trängdes som löss i det tornedalska älvlandets jämmerdal.
Hans unga, energiska, slätrakade ansikte. De djupt liggande ögonen. Skickligt fångade han församlingens uppmärksamhet, och snart gifte han sig med en trosvän, en blyg och släthyvlad, såpaluktande finska från Pellotrakten.
Men när barnen började komma övergavs han av Gud. En dag blev det bara tyst. Ingen svarade längre.
...
Men trots sin övergivenhet, sin tomhet, kallade han sig fortfarande troende. Han höll på ritualerna och uppfostrade sina barn enligt föreskrifterna. Men i Herrens ställe placerade han sig själv. Och det var den värsta formen av laestadianism, den kyligaste, den mest skoningslösa. Laestadianismen utan Gud."
Favoritpassage:
"Men till helgerna renade han sig genom bön och bastu och drog på sig vitskjortan och den mörka kostymen. Under mötena fick han äntligen angripa smutsen och Djävulen, svinga Herrens tveeggade svärd, lag och evangelium, mot världens alla syndare, mot lögnarna, horbockarna, nådetjuvarna, svärjarna, drinkarna, hustruplågarna pch kommunisterna som trängdes som löss i det tornedalska älvlandets jämmerdal.
Hans unga, energiska, slätrakade ansikte. De djupt liggande ögonen. Skickligt fångade han församlingens uppmärksamhet, och snart gifte han sig med en trosvän, en blyg och släthyvlad, såpaluktande finska från Pellotrakten.
Men när barnen började komma övergavs han av Gud. En dag blev det bara tyst. Ingen svarade längre.
...
Men trots sin övergivenhet, sin tomhet, kallade han sig fortfarande troende. Han höll på ritualerna och uppfostrade sina barn enligt föreskrifterna. Men i Herrens ställe placerade han sig själv. Och det var den värsta formen av laestadianism, den kyligaste, den mest skoningslösa. Laestadianismen utan Gud."
January 6, 2018
growing up as a huckleberry Finn
Growing up anyplace isn't smooth, it isn't describable exactly. If you search your memories later, trying to ask why you did something, you can't, for the life of you, remember why. You just did it. Things happened. You tried to get to China. You mimicked the rock stars when you thought you were alone. You might even have licked cold locks---if you grew up in northern climes--- and got your tongue stuck. You were never the hero of your own legend. Well, folks, this novel captures that confusion perfectly. I've never set foot in Sweden, let alone in its far north by the Finnish border, where all the growing up takes place. But now I feel I know what it was like. Niemi's description, magical realism and all, gives you such joy, such interest, that I assure you, you will read POPULAR MUSIC IN VITTULA as quickly as you can. I haven't laughed out loud over a book so much for years. Hey, I even laughed in the Boston subway like some kind of weird, public transport cackler. But I didn't care. Kids fight in the woods with B-B guns, try to start rock bands to impress girls, experiment with sex and alcohol, get up the teacher's nose, visit scary old healers, watch the grownups pass out at huge drinkups, and dream of fast cars. In the very end, things turn out quite differently, but that's really familiar too. Most of the themes are hardly unique to the area, but it's Niemi's genius that he makes you feel it exotic and familiar at the same time. It's contemporary writing at its best and I think all readers in English owe a vote of thanks to the translator too.
You've got to have a strong stomach for a couple sections, say for example, if large piles of dead mice are not your forte. If you have ever seen Kaurismaki films like "Leningrad Cowboys Go America" or "The Man without a Past", you will recognize the same deadpan Finnish humor in Niemi's novel, whose characters are mainly from the Finnish minority in Sweden's rural north. I could recount a scene or two for the surfing reader, try to "deconstruct" whatever, go literary if I could, but your best bet would be to read the book. You will not regret it.
Growing up anyplace isn't smooth, it isn't describable exactly. If you search your memories later, trying to ask why you did something, you can't, for the life of you, remember why. You just did it. Things happened. You tried to get to China. You mimicked the rock stars when you thought you were alone. You might even have licked cold locks---if you grew up in northern climes--- and got your tongue stuck. You were never the hero of your own legend. Well, folks, this novel captures that confusion perfectly. I've never set foot in Sweden, let alone in its far north by the Finnish border, where all the growing up takes place. But now I feel I know what it was like. Niemi's description, magical realism and all, gives you such joy, such interest, that I assure you, you will read POPULAR MUSIC IN VITTULA as quickly as you can. I haven't laughed out loud over a book so much for years. Hey, I even laughed in the Boston subway like some kind of weird, public transport cackler. But I didn't care. Kids fight in the woods with B-B guns, try to start rock bands to impress girls, experiment with sex and alcohol, get up the teacher's nose, visit scary old healers, watch the grownups pass out at huge drinkups, and dream of fast cars. In the very end, things turn out quite differently, but that's really familiar too. Most of the themes are hardly unique to the area, but it's Niemi's genius that he makes you feel it exotic and familiar at the same time. It's contemporary writing at its best and I think all readers in English owe a vote of thanks to the translator too.
You've got to have a strong stomach for a couple sections, say for example, if large piles of dead mice are not your forte. If you have ever seen Kaurismaki films like "Leningrad Cowboys Go America" or "The Man without a Past", you will recognize the same deadpan Finnish humor in Niemi's novel, whose characters are mainly from the Finnish minority in Sweden's rural north. I could recount a scene or two for the surfing reader, try to "deconstruct" whatever, go literary if I could, but your best bet would be to read the book. You will not regret it.
July 9, 2024
Oppvekstroman frå skogsbygda i Tornedalen i Nord-Sverige, eit fantastisk lesestykke! I ein smeltedigel av læstadianarar, samar, fortrengde finnar etter Vinterkrigen og idealistiske sørsvenskar, spirer eit nytt samfunn fram i den moderne etterkrigstida. Kvart kapittel skildrar ein ny fasett av livet der oppe, og eg sit til slutt att med at livet er godt der oppe òg, trass i andre føresetnader. Eit tettare samfunn er kanskje betre enn eit veldig organisert eit. Ein kan (igjen) samanlikne denne med Beatles av Saabye Christensen, som går frå same tid, berre i Oslo. Det er jo da tydeleg at Tornedalen nok ligg litt etter.
Teksten er humrande og fortald gjennom augo på ein oppveksande og draumande gutekvalp. Setningane er gode, men i omsetjinga går nok litt av det nordsvenske tapt, slik at å lese denne på svensk må nok vere det aller beste.
Denne boka er forferdeleg god. Kan ikkje anna enn å tilrå ho på det aller varmaste.
Teksten er humrande og fortald gjennom augo på ein oppveksande og draumande gutekvalp. Setningane er gode, men i omsetjinga går nok litt av det nordsvenske tapt, slik at å lese denne på svensk må nok vere det aller beste.
Denne boka er forferdeleg god. Kan ikkje anna enn å tilrå ho på det aller varmaste.
March 4, 2017
говоря откровенно, эту книгу хотела бы написать я. нобелевскую премию за нее мне, конечно, вряд ли дали бы, но какую-нибудь местечковую - вполне возможно, а я не гордая, возьму, что дадут. но, увы, три шведских премии за "популярную музыку из виттулы" ушли микаэлю ниеми, поэтому мне придется писать о чем-то другом
российские издатели, обладающие, кажется, весьма узким кругозором, сравнивают ее зачем-то с "над пропастью во ржи", как сравнивают с ней любую книгу, героям которой не стукнуло еще восемнадцати. я бы не решилась даже на сравнение с "убить пересмешника", хотя это гораздо теплее, зато - зато! - если вы полюбили "солнечную аллею" томаса бруссига, я практически гарантирую, что вы полюбите "популярную музыку из виттулы". я не уверена, в чем тут дело, то ли в том, что на границе, будь то швеция с финляндией, или восточный берлин с западным, тучи ходят хмуро, и постоянно происходит масса интересного, то ли потому, что в таких местах, которые ни вашим, ни нашим, рождаются писатели с пытливым умом и отличным чувством юмора
российские издатели, обладающие, кажется, весьма узким кругозором, сравнивают ее зачем-то с "над пропастью во ржи", как сравнивают с ней любую книгу, героям которой не стукнуло еще восемнадцати. я бы не решилась даже на сравнение с "убить пересмешника", хотя это гораздо теплее, зато - зато! - если вы полюбили "солнечную аллею" томаса бруссига, я практически гарантирую, что вы полюбите "популярную музыку из виттулы". я не уверена, в чем тут дело, то ли в том, что на границе, будь то швеция с финляндией, или восточный берлин с западным, тучи ходят хмуро, и постоянно происходит масса интересного, то ли потому, что в таких местах, которые ни вашим, ни нашим, рождаются писатели с пытливым умом и отличным чувством юмора
January 20, 2024
liker denne så jævla godt. har kost meg enormt med og ledd kjempemye av beskrivelsene av lokalsamfunnet i boka, særlig de gode skildringene av diverse familietilstelninger og sjargongen og relasjonene der. glad jeg leste den på nytt, sist gang var da jeg gikk på ungdomsskola eller noe. anbefales!!! svak terning fem
August 14, 2022
Skikkelig bra skrevet og ganske morsomt portrett av en bygd i Nord-Sverige, men også tragisk.
January 6, 2021
Dopo la mega delusione di L’uomo che morì come un salmone, non ero sicura se dare un’altra chance a Mikael Niemi con questo più famoso Musica rock da Vittula.
Meno male che invece l’ho fatto. Questo libro contiene tutto quello che cerco di solito nella lettura: lo humor e la malinconia, la magia e la realtà, cruda prosa e delicata poesia, tutto in un breve romanzo di formazione.
Matti e i suoi tre amici crescono a Pajala nell’estremo nord della Svezia, a due passi dalla Finlandia, oltre il circolo polare artico. Là, durante la loro adolescenza all’inizio degli anni ’70, li unisce la passione per la musica rock, che sarà per loro una chiave per conoscere il mondo, la via per ottenere riscatto dai bulli della scuola e dalla scuola stessa, che li fa sentire dei reietti nella loro terra di confine.
Non c’è una vera e propria trama, più una serie di episodi sparpagliati tra l’infanzia e l’adolescenza. Episodi che si sa come iniziano, ma non si sa dove possano portare. Movimenti religiosi, faide famigliari, fantasmi, padri ubriaconi e violenti, stregoni lapponi, taiga, renne, sauna, topi, risse, l’aurora boreale e ovviamente fiumi di alcool sono elementi ricorrenti che fanno da sfondo alle amicizie, gli scontri e i primi approcci con le ragazze del protagonista.
Questo libro è stato un breve viaggio nella nostalgia dell’autore: a volte struggente, a volte rivoltante, a volte davvero ridicolo, ma sempre profondo, avvincente e incantevole.
Fissava le crepe del soffitto dipinto di bianco, un intrico di sottili linee nere che serpeggiavano, si ramificavano e s’interrompevano. Formavano strade in terre lontane e sconosciute. Strade che si mise a percorrere, in preda ai dolori. [...] Alla fine si scelse un posto dove voleva abitare, si costruì una casa di tronchi grezzi e vi si stabilì a vivere in solitudine. C’era carne e pesce in abbondanza, c’era legna per il fuoco. Gli inverni erano lunghi, ma c’era abituato, e le estati chiare e luminose. Solo due cose erano diverse dal vecchio mondo. Prima di tutto qui non c’erano zanzare. Nemmeno negli immensi acquitrini dove le more artiche pendevano dai cespugli grosse come pugni dorati, né una zanzara, né un moscerino, né un tafano né una mosca cavallina, uno strano mondo di foreste senza punture né morsicature.
E in secondo luogo, non c’era il peccato.
Quando se ne rese conto, Isak fu scosso fin nel profondo dell’anima. Finalmente aveva trovato il paradiso. Per quanto cercasse, non c’era l’ombra del male. La natura nutriva e divorava, mangiava e veniva mangiata in un eterno flusso e riflusso di fame e di morte. Ma era una battaglia innocente, incontaminata. La natura respirava intorno a lui, in lui, attraverso di lui. Poteva smettere di disperarsi. Smettere di lottare freneticamente per raggiungere la superficie dell’acqua. Bastava aprirsi come una cavità e lasciarsi invadere dal soffio di quell’aria buona e verdeggiante.
E in questo modo inaspettato, per la seconda volta nella sua vita, Isak incontrò Dio.
Meno male che invece l’ho fatto. Questo libro contiene tutto quello che cerco di solito nella lettura: lo humor e la malinconia, la magia e la realtà, cruda prosa e delicata poesia, tutto in un breve romanzo di formazione.
Matti e i suoi tre amici crescono a Pajala nell’estremo nord della Svezia, a due passi dalla Finlandia, oltre il circolo polare artico. Là, durante la loro adolescenza all’inizio degli anni ’70, li unisce la passione per la musica rock, che sarà per loro una chiave per conoscere il mondo, la via per ottenere riscatto dai bulli della scuola e dalla scuola stessa, che li fa sentire dei reietti nella loro terra di confine.
Non c’è una vera e propria trama, più una serie di episodi sparpagliati tra l’infanzia e l’adolescenza. Episodi che si sa come iniziano, ma non si sa dove possano portare. Movimenti religiosi, faide famigliari, fantasmi, padri ubriaconi e violenti, stregoni lapponi, taiga, renne, sauna, topi, risse, l’aurora boreale e ovviamente fiumi di alcool sono elementi ricorrenti che fanno da sfondo alle amicizie, gli scontri e i primi approcci con le ragazze del protagonista.
Questo libro è stato un breve viaggio nella nostalgia dell’autore: a volte struggente, a volte rivoltante, a volte davvero ridicolo, ma sempre profondo, avvincente e incantevole.
Fissava le crepe del soffitto dipinto di bianco, un intrico di sottili linee nere che serpeggiavano, si ramificavano e s’interrompevano. Formavano strade in terre lontane e sconosciute. Strade che si mise a percorrere, in preda ai dolori. [...] Alla fine si scelse un posto dove voleva abitare, si costruì una casa di tronchi grezzi e vi si stabilì a vivere in solitudine. C’era carne e pesce in abbondanza, c’era legna per il fuoco. Gli inverni erano lunghi, ma c’era abituato, e le estati chiare e luminose. Solo due cose erano diverse dal vecchio mondo. Prima di tutto qui non c’erano zanzare. Nemmeno negli immensi acquitrini dove le more artiche pendevano dai cespugli grosse come pugni dorati, né una zanzara, né un moscerino, né un tafano né una mosca cavallina, uno strano mondo di foreste senza punture né morsicature.
E in secondo luogo, non c’era il peccato.
Quando se ne rese conto, Isak fu scosso fin nel profondo dell’anima. Finalmente aveva trovato il paradiso. Per quanto cercasse, non c’era l’ombra del male. La natura nutriva e divorava, mangiava e veniva mangiata in un eterno flusso e riflusso di fame e di morte. Ma era una battaglia innocente, incontaminata. La natura respirava intorno a lui, in lui, attraverso di lui. Poteva smettere di disperarsi. Smettere di lottare freneticamente per raggiungere la superficie dell’acqua. Bastava aprirsi come una cavità e lasciarsi invadere dal soffio di quell’aria buona e verdeggiante.
E in questo modo inaspettato, per la seconda volta nella sua vita, Isak incontrò Dio.
January 10, 2026
En bok som jag länge tänkt läsa och som handlar om huvudpersonens barndom i Norra Sverige. Trots denna enkla handling så behandlar boken teman som kultur, uppväxt på glesbygden samt identitet med mycket humor och språklig skicklighet. 4+ av 5, en riktigt trevlig läsning.
October 30, 2024
3,5 stjerner. Artig greie dette her. Oppvekst i finland på 60-tallet. Badstu, sprit og gitar. Vil se filmen.
December 28, 2020
глухе шведське село на кордоні з фінляндією, 60-70-ті, устрій настільки традиційний, що діди обурюються появі електрики, а водночас дітям в школі ставлять брекети, якщо зуб росте криво (шведи і у 60-их були шведами). з розваг: весілля, похорони, похід в баню й, звісно, алкоголь (конкретно – водка, об'єм – безмірний). посеред цієї тиші цивілізації друзі-підлітки створюють рок-н-ролл бенд.
давно (може, ніколи?) так не сміялась, читаючи книжку. хоча, безперечно, місцями доречно плакати.
дещо нагадує "роль моєї сім'ї у світовій революції" бори чосич.
"Самым опасным пороком, от которого отец хотел уберечь меня, были книги – из-за них единственных люди целыми толпами сходили с ума. Дурдомы ломятся от заядлых книгочеев. Когда-то эти люди были, как ты и я - здоровые, бесшабашные и уравновешенные. Но вот повадились читать. И дальше по цели, прямиком в вечное царство безумия. Ты просто не можешь бросить. Хуже наркотиков."
давно (може, ніколи?) так не сміялась, читаючи книжку. хоча, безперечно, місцями доречно плакати.
дещо нагадує "роль моєї сім'ї у світовій революції" бори чосич.
"Самым опасным пороком, от которого отец хотел уберечь меня, были книги – из-за них единственных люди целыми толпами сходили с ума. Дурдомы ломятся от заядлых книгочеев. Когда-то эти люди были, как ты и я - здоровые, бесшабашные и уравновешенные. Но вот повадились читать. И дальше по цели, прямиком в вечное царство безумия. Ты просто не можешь бросить. Хуже наркотиков."
May 30, 2024
לסקירה מפורטת בעברית, קישור לבלוג שלי -
https://sivi-the-avid-reader.com/מוזי...
https://sivi-the-avid-reader.com/מוזי...
March 27, 2020
Erittäin elämänmakuinen kirja. Hieno ja koskettava kasvukertomus.
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